


The Expectant Father

by JLKnox



Series: How Brio could actually work... [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Between the Scenes, Controlling Behavior, F/M, Internal Monologue, ob/gyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLKnox/pseuds/JLKnox
Summary: Beth can't believe her lie worked -- now she has to make her lie work.Rio has his own suspicions, but for now he has to work with the information he's been given.---Frustrated after a morning of bad experiences and even worse ideas, I get myself together and make a quick Target run for a few things. Contrary to popular opinion, there is such a thing, and I’m back before lunch. Who am I kidding? It’s probably only because I’m zombie-me, with my mind 80% focused on a way out of this that doesn’t end in death.Gruesome images of the results of Rio’s rage fill my visual field as I bring the shopping up the front walk.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: How Brio could actually work... [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657150
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	The Expectant Father

**Author's Note:**

> Honest admission: this is not my sexiest work, and I feel it's a lil slow.  
> But I promise I'll get them there, I hope you stick it out!

Holy shit.

Holyshitholyshit.

Rio is laying on my chest. In the back of my van. Saying he won’t kill me.

He thinks the baby is his.

I never really said that, but I guess it works.

Now I just need a baby.

Holyshit I didn’t kill him.

But it’s all over his face – or was – that he can’t let it go. Of course he can’t. No one else knows we planned it.

Why didn’t he leave?

Why didn’t he stay gone?

I assumed faking your death meant going where the Feds wouldn’t follow? But then Turner died –

Holyshit Turner died.

I look down and it creeps into my mind, from the back of my neck where instincts live to make itself at home in my frontal lobe where I know things rationally.

Turner died; Rio resurfaces.

And just like I thought – he thinks he’s back in business.

And to be the king, you have to show strength.

I didn’t even know why I was afraid, but when he showed up, my entire body screamed that it was wrong. That if he was here, I was in trouble. So I said the only thing I that came to mind that would turn the tables and now it feels even worse.

I shift my weight, body parts are falling asleep, needles piercing my palms and tailbone and thighs and shoulders.

“Fore I go…” I look up as he shifts back to the other side of the van, knees up, gun in hand between them. “You know this can’t hold.” My face drains, I feel the chill as all the blood rushes out of it. “I don’t kill kids, but I gotta do sumpin to let folks know it ain’t okay you shot me.”

I can’t keep the stammer out of my voice. He flips so fast. I wouldn’t call what he was doing…loving…exactly, but it was supportive. Now, what, he’s ringing the shame bell? “Something…li..like what?”

“Dunno yet. But I think you know since I’m back, this peace can’t stand.” He smirks and lets out a burst that’s almost a rueful laugh. My face questions. “Funny, just occurred to me another Elizabeth got a stay of execution cuz a bein pregnant.” I shake my head, confusion still on my features. “Elizabeth Proctor? _Crucible_?” It sounds vaguely familiar and he shakes his head. “Sallright. Maybe you dinnint take a page outta that book.” His face turns hard and his eyes pierce my abdomen. “But I dinnint get here by trustin people – especially people who repeatedly try to turn me in.” His jaw clenches and that muscle pops out; I briefly worry about his teeth cracking, he does that so often.

“…That was before, though…” He looks at me, still seeming angry. “Before…” I wave kind of indeterminately.

“Before we was fuckin?” He gives me a half-smile. “Yeah, til it wasn’t.”

I scoff. “Shooting you was the plan! You were supposed to stay dead!”

“I never said that, mama. Maybe you just inferred it.”

“I thought that’s what faking one’s own death entailed!” I can’t believe this. I want to kick him but I end up just slamming my foot around ineffectually.

“You also weren’t sposta free Turner.”

“You never said that, ‘ _papa’_ ,” I scoff. “You kind of left that out. I thought if I didn’t, it would look suspicious!”

“Ain’t no one to cast suspicion when he’s dead. My guys were waitin outside to take care a me _an_ him.” My mouth hangs open, then closes. Then opens again to say something. Then closes. “Yeahhh…at’s what I thought.”

“I… I didn’t know. I was winging it. _You put a hood on me!_ I was freaking out!”

“Were you workin with him?” He cocks the gun but the click is hollow. It’s empty. The sound still chills me and I freeze.

“No! Oh my god, no!”

He stares at me with an intensity entirely unique to him, his eyes practically goring my own out. But I meet his gaze and try to turn it back on him – if I could bend his fingers backward off that gun with the power of my stare, I would. He’s not the only one who can set his jaw, I lift mine, defiantly.

“If I was working with him, I would have aimed for your head.” My words are supposed to sound cold but instead they come out prissy. Uch, sometimes I hate my voice! “And I think I’ve proven my aim is good enough, considering you’re still alive.”

He cocks his head, and his gun, to the side, ceding the point.

“Still, seems like we at least even now – you fake my death, I get Turner off your back. He did know bowtcher garden, after all.”

“Yeah,” I snort, “Another thing that wasn’t mentioned as part of the plan.”

“If he’d stayed tied up…that wouldna been a problem, either. Like I said, mama, I gotchu.”

“Right, well Turner being gone helps you, too, so I don’t see it as an equal favor. I think you still owe me.”

“Zat right?” He breathes in slowly, deeply, letting me know he’s pissed off.

“It is.”

“Well that ain’t …public…enough to keep the peace.” He runs his empty hand over his hair-stubble, front to back, resting on his neck. “Lease there a reason – fer now – t’keep you alive.” He waves his gun hand at my belly, and my hand flies to it even though I know it’s as empty as the weapon.

His hand rests on the hatch release and he looks me over once again, so thoroughly, and so dripping with desire this time it’s like being licked from head to toe. I shudder, my lips part and my knees fall open.

“Good t’see you, ma,” the jackal’s smile comes out as he lifts the latch and stretches to his full height, door in hand. “Enjoy yer borrowed time.”

The last words are colder, and followed by the quick, heavy thud of the gate. I count to 50 to let him leave, because there’s no way I’m going to crawl up to the front seat, and because I need time to try to figure out what the hell just happened.

===

By the time I get home, Mick is out front – across the street, but obviously there to watch. Guess that’s what passes for an uneasy peace …for now.

The next morning, I have to consider that the family might notice the black sedan that never leaves the street near our house. Starting the day off with Dean, trying to make my lie true, was bad enough. Now I have this? What’s worse: the gross, sweaty face of a liar dripping on you while you’re not even pretending to enjoy sex… or the gross, tattooed face of a guy who used to answer to you keeping you under surveillance?

There’s no right answer, but one at least involves fewer fluids. I try to keep the gag back behind my mug of coffee.

I was hoping my call-your-manager approach that worked with Gil might also help with Mick, but he’s too savvy for that. Damn lieutenants. He brings up some good points and I send the officer away. At least I get better than a footsoldier, that says something.

Hunh. I wonder what Dags’ up to these days?

Dammit, Elizabeth, focus. Being a kept wom—not even woman, animal is more like it – is not how you want to spend your false pregnancy.

Ooooh, now there’s an idea. Women have been able to psychologically induce pregnancy symptoms by believing it hard enough, right? Maybe Google has something to say about that.

Frustrated after a morning of bad experiences and even worse ideas, I get myself together and make a quick Target run for a few things. Contrary to popular opinion, there is such a thing, and I’m back before lunch. Who am I kidding? It’s probably only because I’m zombie-me, with my mind 80% focused on a way out of this that doesn’t end in death.

Gruesome images of the results of Rio’s rage fill my visual field as I bring the shopping up the front walk.

“Hey now.”

Dammit. My body freezes.

Gradually, I turn toward him.

I can’t make my face create an expression. I have _no_ idea how we left things. He threatens me, almost fucks me, comforts me, threatens me again, tells me he missed me, threatens me again, then sends a power symbol over to my house.

“How ya feelin, momma?”

Okay, concern is something I can work with. Maybe this is nice Rio.

“Nauseous.”

His face sets. Ok, I guess that wasn’t the right answer.

“Let’s go for a drive,” he gestures with his hands in his pockets, swallows and hardens his voice, “get some air.”

He wavered between attitudes in the van, maybe I can turn him back around. Maybe he is actually concerned. A smile couldn’t hurt. Maybe some ‘come-in’ eyes?

“I should get these inside,” I gesture with the grocery bags, “There’s ice cream.”

“Get in the car, Elizabeth.”

Fuck, there goes that hope. Well, I should probably keep smiling.

As we walk into the OB/GYN, the ringing in my ears returns. There’s no way out there’s no way out there’s no way this doesn’t end with me dead. I can barely track the friendly conversation he’s having with another patient until his words penetrate through the noise.

“Yeah, yeah…yeah. It almost doesn’t feel real.”

Runrunrunrunrunrunrun.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom.”

Shit, that was stupid. Of course that wouldn’t work. Of course he knows better, he has Marcus and probably a dozen others. Now I’m here with his hand on the back of my neck and my arm and I can’t break away without looking horrible.

Think, Elizabeth, think.

There’s no thinking. You’re fucked.

I let myself be escorted into the examination room, barely able to answer the doctor’s questions. Did he just call me ‘darling’? What the hell?

My brain starts to thaw as it seems like the doctor is going to let me leave without an ultrasound. I can get through. I can make it past today.

FUCK.

Every possible scenario runs through my mind as I prep for the ultrasound. Will he kill me in the car? Will he kill me with the car? Will he send me and the car into the lake while he bails out? Will I drown inside the car or will he shoot me first before sending me into the lake? Is fast better?

My feet are in the stirrups before I know what’s going on… and I hear the doctor… lying.

Is that allowed?

He slams out, growling, “Paternity test.” I thank the doctor and put my clothes back on, hoping he hasn’t left me to get myself back home.

I climb into the Hummer by myself as he stares straight ahead, clenching the wheel. Shutting the door, I curl against it, trying to take up as little space as possible.

He breathes in deeply, loosens his grip on the wheel, and starts to drive. I assume he’s angry – he’s usually angry – but I can’t figure out about what. Not being able to kill me? The idea that it might be Dean’s? Whatever it is fills the car and pushes me even farther away from him.

He lets out an even deeper exhale. “It’s not dat I wanted to not believe you,” he says.

The silence takes over again.

“I just started thinkin bout it all.”

I let it sit there since it doesn’t mean anything on its own.

“You. Goody Proctor. D-bag. Hysteria.” He pounds the armrest and pulls off down a side street I don’t know. There’s plenty of trees and the entrance to what looks like a jogging trail through a wooded park. A nice part of town. “I mean, if someone accused me of witchcraft, I’d say anything to not hang today, yanno?”

“You’re really stuck on this Elizabeths-are-liars thing. But she really was pregnant.”

“Yeah, an she still hung.” He looks over at me. “I thought you dinnint remember it.”

I shrug. “Google exists,” and I can’t help it, a tiny bit of a smile breaks through my fear. “And wikipedia.”

He nods and rubs his hand over his head. “It do,” he almost laughs. “It do.”

“What happened, though, to ‘igotchu’?”

His head snaps up, I recoil. But his expression isn’t entirely angry. “Whaddya mean? Igotchu a pre-natal exam, dinnint I?” I sigh heavily, and slowly. I can’t argue. “It’s not like you need to pay for that when you’re borrowin mortgage money.”

“And what if I hadn’t been home? And what about my ice cream?” I shoot him my best mom-glare and he has the decency to look chagrined. “Texting exists. Ical exists. There are better ways to do it.”

“Yeahhh…well, I knew you would say no.”

“You didn’t want me to have the freedom to say no.”

“I got all in my head. It seemed like the best option.” I fold my arms and keep my face annoyed.

“Yeah, well, you’re going to have to plan ahead next time, then _tell me_ those plans.”

“Y’a’int got to worry bout that – I scheduled the rest of your appointments while you was getting dressed.”

As I throw up my hands because he still doesn’t get it, he shifts the car out of park. Before he pulls out, I look back towards him. When he looks right, he sees me looking. I lean in a little, and he moves toward me. Gently putting my hand on his chin, I pull him closer and lean in for a soft, slow kiss. I can’t bring myself to say the words ‘thank you’, since that entire afternoon was a nightmare…but I can let him think I am grateful for the appointment.

It’s only a half-lie; I’m grateful, but right now it’s just for my life.

As we drift apart, I whisper, “But you’re going to have to ‘got me’ some more ice cream on the way back.”


End file.
